The next morning I head into the office early again. My plan is to grab the files I need, leave them on my desk and then send a courier to collect them. No idea how I’m going to sign for them, but I’m hoping Tash will be able to come round and do it. Plus I can take photos of the relevant bits on my phone and be in and out of there before anyone else is even up. Even opening the door with the swipe card shouldn’t be a problem at this time of day, as long as I keep an eye out for street sweepers or drunks on the walk of shame.

Walking to work is lovely. So lovely that I tell myself I’ll keep doing it, whatever happens. It feels like London is just waking up – the sun is turning the buildings warm and golden. The streets are wet from the street cleaners and every cafe and coffee shop I pass smells delicious. It’s easy to take this city for granted, I think, particularly when I get in the habit of getting the Tube to work and home again without really stopping to look around – but today I do stop and look around and it’s wonderful.

There’s no one near my building apart from a homeless guy almost directly opposite, but I think he’s asleep and he’s got his back to me. I take my swipe card out of my bra – I realised this morning that as long as it was inside my clothes, it wasn’t visible – and quickly open the door.

I glance at my desk on the way past, but it doesn’t look like anything’s changed. Alex’s black jumper is hanging over the back of his chair and I actually think about stopping to sniff it before telling myself to get a grip. It’d probably smell of smoke anyway. I notice he’s got a copy of H.G. Wells’ The Time Machine on his desk. I like a man who reads. Max didn’t read anything that didn’t have a red top or a ‘busty lovely’ on the cover.

Trying to remember why I went out with Max in the first place (Because he asked, a voice in my head says. I ignore it), I make my way to the archive room. I think I thought opposites attracting was a real thing. Or maybe I just wanted it to be. Or maybe it was because he was friends with the guy Tash was seeing at the time and I liked the idea of double-dating. I don’t know.

As I pass the kitchen, I realise there’s someone in there. And they’re singing. It's a male voice and I recognise the tune, but can't quite place it.

As I get closer, I can hear the singing more clearly and it’s so familiar that it starts to annoy me. What is it?! It’s when the singer – who I am pretty sure is Alex – starts playing percussion with what sounds like spoons on mugs that I realise a) he’s in the kitchen and b) he’s singing the Super Mario theme music.

I cover my mouth with my hand as I laugh and step close enough to be able to see him through the open kitchen door. He’s wearing a white t-shirt, grey tracksuit bottoms and white socks. He’s dancing, his feet scuffling across the lino, bum wiggling, as he sings and sort of beatboxes the game sounds.

I blush, thinking about what I imagined him doing to me in the shower. And last night in bed. And this morning just as I was waking up. What I imagined doing to him. I stare at his bum a bit more. Might need to remember that later.

He drops a teabag in a mug and pushes the mug under the hot water tap then sings the sound the game makes when a flower emerges from a block, shoulders shimmying, and I try to smother my laughter again, but I don’t quite manage it and a snort escapes.

Alex stops dead and, for a second, doesn’t even turn round. He slides the mug out from under the tap and then turns and looks out of the door. I wonder what he’s doing in the office so early.

‘Is someone there?’ he calls. He narrows his eyes and pushes one hand back through his hair.

I want to leave because it feels creepy to be here when he doesn’t know I’m here, but I don’t want to move in case I bump into something or otherwise alert him to my presence. I stand stock still, breathing as lightly as I possibly can.

He steps closer to the door and leans out, one hand on the door jamb, and looks around the office. His eyes slide straight past me, of course, but I still close my own eyes again, as if that’ll help him not see me. I’m such an idiot.

I stay exactly where I am until he’s made his drink and gone round the corner to Mel’s office, and only then do I let myself carry on round to the archive room.

There are so many Fancy Bantams files archived that there’s no way I can take them all home. I hope Mel’s filing skills have improved over the years; there’s so much irrelevant crap that should never have been filed in the first place, let alone archived. I’ve got a pile of files to take – I’ve pushed them under the desk near the shelving to make them less obvious – and I’m reading over the very first brief document from 1996 when something slams into me from behind.

I’m knocked to the ground, dropping the bottle of water I brought with me – it rolls across the floor and something weird happens in my brain. It feels like everything’s happening in slow motion. I watch the water sink into the grey carpet and I try to catch my breath.

It’s only when I hear him say, ‘What the hell?’ that I realise it was Alex who crashed into me.

I don’t know what to do. If he takes another step, he’ll fall over me, but there isn’t enough room for me to get out of his way. I roll onto my side and try to crawl under the desk next to the pile of files, but there isn’t enough room and I can’t properly get underneath it.

‘Izzy?’ Alex says.

I swallow a gasp and clench my teeth.

‘Yeah, course it’s not Izzy,’ Alex says. ‘Idiot.’

I turn my head slightly further than is comfortable so I can see him. His cheeks are flushed and he looks utterly bewildered, unsurprisingly.

‘What the hell was that?’ he mutters. And then he looks straight at me. And shakes his head. I look down to make sure I’m still invisible – and I am – but he’s still looking at me, with a little vertical line between his eyebrows.

‘Izzy?’ he says again.

I hold my breath.

He crouches down, frowning, and reaches his hand out towards me. And I have no idea what to do.

I panic.

I put my hand out to stop him touching me, but his hand makes contact with mine and he shrieks, jumping backwards. I jump up, forgetting I’m under the desk, and I hit my head. And my face. And I make a noise I can’t describe. It’s sort of ‘Shit’ but muffled by a smashed face and a person realising that they really shouldn’t say anything at all because they’re bloody invisible in their office with one of their co-workers. A hot co-worker.

‘Izzy?’ Alex says again.

I half-drag myself out from under the desk, putting my hands up to my face.

‘What the fuck?’ Alex says.

‘You can see me?’ I hold my hands out and for a second I can see them too. Why can I see them?

‘You’re bleeding,’ he says.

‘I’m invisible,’ I say. My voice sounds weird.

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘I kind of got that.’

And then apparently I faint.

When I come round, I’m flat on my back, my head’s on something soft, and my face feels cool. I open one eye. Alex is looking down at me, his eyebrows knitted with concern. Or maybe horror. It’s hard to say.

‘Alex?’ I say. It comes out as a croak.

His breath whooshes out. ‘You’re okay? Thank fuck for that.’

‘Am I still invisible?’ I say. ‘My face feels wet. Oh shit. Is it blood?’

He shakes his head. ‘No, no.’ He holds his hand up and I see he’s got a handful of the paper towels from the bathroom. They’re dark green so I know they’re wet. Also, his hand is shaking. It makes something twist in my stomach.

‘Your nose was bleeding, but not a lot. It’s stopped now.’

‘But I’m still invisible?’

He nods.

‘So how come you haven’t run away screaming?’

‘I’m Australian,’ he says, giving me a shy smile. ‘We don’t do running and screaming. Although, full disclosure, I might’ve shit myself.’

I laugh, but stop suddenly when it makes my face feel like it might explode.

‘Sorry,’ Alex says, smoothing the paper towel over my forehead.

Realisation dawns as my head starts to clear. ‘And you can see me? A bit. Because of the water.’

‘Yeah. So…’ He tips his head on one side. ‘I should probably ask…’

‘How this happened?’

He nods.

‘Yeah. I don’t know. I just woke up like this.’ I picture myself posting a picture with that caption on Instagram – a picture of nothing – and I snort. Ow.

‘Seriously?’ Alex says, ignoring the snort. ‘How long ago?’

‘Saturday. So today is day five. I was hoping it was one of those forty-eight-hour things…’

He nods. ‘Forty-eight-hour invisibility. I’ve heard of that.’

I laugh again and feel my heartbeat in the bridge of my nose.

‘Why does my nose…’ I start to say, but then I realise I bashed my face on the desk. Great.

‘So how come I can see you with the water?’ Alex asks.

He’s left the wet paper towel on my forehead now, but he’s gently brushing my hair away from my face. I feel some of the strands tug a little where they’ve presumably been caught in the blood from my nose. I must look horrifying. Or I would. If I wasn’t invisible.

‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I don’t know anything, really. I tried Googling it, but it turns out this is impossible, so it wasn’t much of a help.’

‘No, I wouldn’t have thought so,’ Alex says, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile. ‘But you’re visible as long as you’re wet?’

His cheeks flush pink. The memory of fantasising about him in the shower (and, er, in bed) (and also on the sofa) pops into my mind and I shove it away, feeling my face heating too.

‘Seems that way,’ I say. ‘You can’t see me properly, right? Just sort of outlines?’

‘You kinda look like you’re made out of water, if that makes sense,’ he says.

‘It’s weird, isn’t it? When I’m in the shower it sort of looks like I’m melting. Like I’m dissolving in front of my own eyes.’

Why did I mention the shower? I shouldn’t have mentioned the shower.

‘Do you think you can sit up?’ Alex says. ‘I’m worried we need to take you for medical attention, but—’

‘But how could we do that? I know. I feel like I’m in one of those films where I have to keep away from the authorities ’cos they’ll want to do tests on me.’

‘Do you feel okay?’ He smiles. ‘In yourself, I mean?’

I laugh. ‘Yeah. Actually, I feel great. I mean, not right now – my nose hurts and I feel like an idiot – but in general, I feel better than I have in years.’

‘Right. Okay.’ He frowns. ‘It’s getting late. I think people are going to start arriving soon.’

‘Shit, yes. I need to go.’

‘Can you walk?’ He holds his hand out. ‘Sorry, I can’t see where…’

‘It’s okay.’ I wrap my hand around his. It feels strong and warm. It still seems strange to me that I can feel his hand even though I can’t see mine. But I guess it must feel even stranger to him.

‘That’s weird,’ he says. Then his cheeks flush again. ‘I mean, not bad weird, just—’

‘I know,’ I say. ‘Sorry.’

He shakes his head, his hair falling forward from where he’d tucked it behind his ear. ‘No, I am. I just didn’t expect it to feel like—’

‘A normal hand? I know.’

I let him help me up, but even when I’m standing, he doesn’t let go of my hand.

‘Do you need help getting home?’ he says.

‘No, I’ll be fine,’ I say. But then I think, What if I faint again? What would happen if I fainted and no one could see me? I shudder.

‘Actually. If you wouldn’t mind…’

‘No worries,’ he says. ‘Is there anything you need?’

‘Yeah. There is.’

‘How do I talk to you?’ Alex mutters out of the corner of his mouth once we’re outside on the street. He’s got all the files I need in a box and the weight of them makes the muscles in his forearms flex. I’m trying not to look at them.

I step closer so I’m talking directly into his ear. ‘Probably best if you don’t, unless you’re okay with people thinking you’re talking to yourself.’

He smiles. ‘I’m not that bothered, tbh.’ He actually says ‘tee bee aitch’. He steps to the edge of the kerb to hail a taxi that’s just come round the corner. It stops right in front of us and Alex holds the door open for me. I climb in and Alex gets in after me.

‘Where you going, mate?’ the driver asks.

As he puts the box of files on the floor of the taxi, Alex says, ‘Er. I’ve forgotten the address, actually. Just bear with me a sec…’

I look at the rear view mirror and see the driver roll his eyes. Alex gets his phone out of the front pocket of his jeans, holds it up in front of his face and opens FaceTime. Seriously? He’s FaceTiming now? Who with?

‘Hi!’ he says brightly, even though it’s still showing the contact screen. ‘How’s it going, Izzy?’

I open my mouth and close it again. What?

‘What was that, mate?’ the driver says.

‘Sorry,’ Alex says, holding his phone out a bit further. ‘Just on the phone with my… girlfriend. Getting the address.’

‘Ah right, sorry,’ the driver says. ‘Didn’t realise. FaceTime? It’s great that, isn’t it? My daughter’s working in Belize and—’

‘Sorry,’ Alex says, pointing at the phone and pulling a face and the driver nods and stops talking.

‘No, I’m just in a cab,’ Alex says, angling his body slightly towards me. ‘What’s the address?’

‘Twenty-two St Mary’s Road,’ I say quietly.

‘Twenty-two St Mary’s Road! Thanks! Can’t believe I forgot.’

He leans forward and gives the address to the cab driver, then sits back, looking very pleased with himself.

‘That was impressive,’ I whisper.

He grins. ‘I impressed myself there, not gonna lie.’